Chemistry
by UnattemptedFeat
Summary: A series of one-shots about the results of some of Sherlock's more interesting experiments.
1. Burn

Elizabeth was sitting in the living room reading when she smelled the smoke. She glanced to the kitchen, where the smell seemed to be coming from.

Orange flames were blazing across the kitchen table. Black smoke clouded the ceiling. It had begun to billow out into the living room.

"Dad!" Elizabeth screamed, running for the fire extinguisher in the living room. But when she picked it up, she knew it was useless. It was empty. The second fire extinguisher was in the kitchen. It was in a cabinet under the sink.

The cabinet that the fire was trying its hardest to get to.

Elizabeth dropped to her knees and crawled into the kitchen. She began to make her way to the cabinet, staying as low as possible to avoid the smoke. She did her best, but she was coughing by the time she reached the cabinet.

She was just about to open the cabinet when strong hands yanked her back out into the living room. She lay on the carpet, trying desperately to drink in the cleaner air. She watched as Sherlock wrenched the cabinet open and produced the fire extinguisher. He quickly put out the fire, and then opened all of the windows in the living room and kitchen.

"What was it?" Elizabeth asked as soon as she could manage the words.

"Petrol experiment." Sherlock scowled at the burnt table. "John is not going to be pleased."

"I should say not." Elizabeth glanced at the smoke alarm positioned on the kitchen ceiling. It had been charred by the smoke. "Why didn't the alarm go off?"

"It wouldn't shut up, so I took the batteries out."

Elizabeth glared at her father. "We have it for a reason." She gestured to the crispy table, which chose that moment to spinter and collapse. "Just be glad I was downstairs. I don't want to know what would have happened if I hadn't smelled the smoke."

"What do I do about the table?" Sherlock examined its ashy remains ruefully.

"Didn't you say Mycroft owes you a favor?"


	2. Don't Forget

"Elizabeth, come down here!"

Elizabeth closed her book at her father's call and trekked downstairs. She found Sherlock sitting in the kitchen, playing with some bubbling substance. She stopped in the doorway, wary of the hot chemical.

"Drink this." Sherlock handed her the strange liquid he had been meddling with. It was a beaker full of a green solution with orangey bubbles surging through it. It looked positively scary!

"What is it?"

"You don't want to know."

"You're not trying to poison me, are you?" Elizabeth frowned. "I'm pretty sure that's child abuse."

"It's not toxic." Sherlock said. "Well, it shouldn't be."

"Why can't you experiment on John?" Elizabeth was stalling now. She knew that she would drink it. She always did.

"He got mad about the fire last week." Sherlock rolled his eyes, as if John being annoyed about him setting the kitchen on fire was profoundly absurd.

"You did almost burn down the flat."

Sherlock smirked, "Stop stalling. You know that you're going to do it."

"And why is that, I wonder?" Elizabeth gazed down at the beaker. "Because I really shouldn't."

"I wouldn't poison you." Sherlock assured her.

"Not on purpose." Elizabeth took a deep breath. Then she shrugged and downed the mixture.

It tasted like fire. Elizabeth's throat burned as the mixture blazed through it. She doubled over, coughing and spluttering. The burn finally subsided, and she straightened.

Where was she? She didn't recognize this place. And who was this guy writing something on a piece of paper?

"Now, do you feel strangely light?" The man was looking at her. Why was he looking at her? "Do you feel an urge to defy gravity?"

What was he talking about? He acted like he knew her, but she was pretty sure she hadn't met him before.

"Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth. Was that her name? Her eyes widened when she realized that she didn't know if it was or not.

"Elizabeth, are you alright?" The man got off the stool and approached her. Elizabeth scrambled back, hands up in defense. "Elizabeth?" The man took another step forward, and Elizabeth backed up further.

"Stay away from me!" She shouted, her back now pressed against a wall. She looked about her frantically, trying to locate a weapon. Elizabeth saw nothing but a skull and a violin. The man had stopped now and was running his hands through his hair. He looked scared of something. Was he scared of Elizabeth? Did he have a reason to be? Elizabeth hated not knowing who she was or who he was.

Steeling herself, she asked quickly, "Who are you?"

"What?" The man dropped his hands to his sides.

"Who are you?!" Elizabeth screamed. She looked towards to door. Where did it lead? If this turned ugly, she would need an escape route.

"Elizabeth, I'm your father." The man dared to take another step towards her, and Elizabeth took her chance. She darted for the door.

But she wasn't fast enough. The man who claimed to be her father caught her around the waist. She screamed and fought him, kicking out to try to dislodge his grip.

"Elizabeth, please!" The man pleaded. She glanced briskly at his face, trying to deduce his emotions. He looked extremely fearful now. She felt a surge of pity for his sorrow, not knowing why she was feeling sorry for him. But she didn't let up. She kept trying to wrench herself out of his grasp. This man was outrageously strong.

"Sherlock! Elizabeth!" Another man came into the room, looking out of breath. So he had run here? Had he came quickly because of her screams?

"John!" The man holding her said. "John! Help me!"

The smaller man didn't hesitate to pounce on top of Elizabeth. Unable to hold him, she was driven to the floor. Both men worked together to pin her to the ground. After a couple of minutes, Elizabeth stopped fighting them, knowing it would be fruitless.

"Sherlock, what did you do?" The smaller man, John, panted. He was staring down at Elizabeth. She didn't blame him. She supposed she must look manic.

"I don't...I don't know..." Sherlock shook his head rapidly. Maybe to clear it? "It was just supposed to cause her to fly!"

"How...? Never mind!" John said tiredly. "What do we do to fix this?"

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. It looked like he was sifting through his brain, if that was possible. "Give me a moment!" He leapt off of Elizabeth and raced to the kitchen. John moved one of his hands so that both of Elizabeth's wrists were still pinned. A few minutes later, and after several curses, thuds, and bangs, Sherlock came bolting back in.

It took the combined effort of Sherlock and John to make Elizabeth drink the solution. It was a bright, frightening red. She was afraid they were trying to poison her.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, something flashed across her brain.

 _I wouldn't poison you._

That slight flash of a memory, though she couldn't remember what it was from, stilled her. She drank the liquid and felt a strange coolness as it slid down her throat.

Elizabeth blinked and recognition surged through her head. Memories came flooding back, and she closed her eyes with the force of remembering.

"Elizabeth." Someone was shaking her. She opened her eyes to see Sherlock, her father, looking down at her worriedly. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.

"I cannot _believe_ I drank that!" Elizabeth was angry. She shot to her feet and rounded on her father, who just stood there looking relieved. "I couldn't remember who I was! I didn't remember John! I didn't remember this flat! I didn't remember _you_!" That had been scary. She hadn't remembered the two most important men in her life. Take away her memories, and she had become nothing. She had lost herself in those moments.

But she had found herself again. And she now realized the importance of her memories, good and bad.

They made her who she was.

 **Sooo... That happened. Initially, it was supposed to be a truth serum, cursed Muse. So anyways, when reverted back to a basic human being, Elizabeth was the most like Sherlock. She went back to her instincts, though she had no memories, and they were what he would have done. Plot bunnies can be scary.**


	3. Innocent

Elizabeth wasn't sure what that noise was. She had an idea, but she was positive that it was incorrect. But then she heard it again. It was unmistakable.

Sherlock and John were laughing, giggling, and squealing like schoolgirls.

Elizabeth got up from the couch and entered the kitchen, where her father and John had been talking. They were chuckling and breathing hard from the force of their laughter.

"What's going on in here?" Elizabeth asked hesitantly. She had never seen the two men act like this.

"Elizabeth!" Sherlock skipped toward her, literally _skipped_. Elizabeth took an involuntary step back. This was very weird behaviour. "Lizzy Girl!" Sherlock took both of her hands and spun her around.

"Come join the party!" John kissed her on the cheek.

Were they drunk? Had they been poisoned?

"Yes, Lizzy Girl, you have to dance with me!" Sherlock led her into the living room, and he began to lead her in a salsa. Elizabeth followed along, extremely confused. She never thought she would have appreciated her father's dance lessons, but she found them extremely convenient in that moment.

"Ok, what did you guys take?" Elizabeth allowed Sherlock to twirl her.

"You two dance pretty." John flopped onto the floor and watched them with wide eyes.

"I can lift her!"

"Wait- No!" Sherlock lifted Elizabeth and spun with her. It was a move straight from Dirty Dancing. He set her down gently, and John applauded enthusiastically.

Elizabeth broke out of the dance. "Alright. Now, I need to know what you guys took and how much."

"Sherly was making funny juice." John tried to make a snow-angel in the carpet. "He drank some. He put it in my tea!"

"Okay..." Elizabeth glanced to the skull, where she knew a camera was. "Mycroft, I'm sure you're already on it, but some of that all-purpose antidote would be great right about now."

Sherlock had joined John on the carpet, and now they were both staring up at Elizabeth. They were being eerily silent.

"What?" Elizabeth wondered if they were coming off of their strange, giddy high.

"I wish I could have a daughter like you." John mused, throwing an arm around Sherlock, who nestled into John's shoulder. For a moment, Elizabeth was tempted to take a picture of the two of them. "If I had a daughter, I would name her Bethany. After you, Bethy. I would love her, and you two could solve cases together when you got older. If I had a son, you could chase bad people with him too. He would be named Joseph. Yeah, you and Joey could be like me and you and Sherlock. You and Joey against the world. Maybe you'd even fall in love..."

"Not with _my_ daughter." Sherlock fixed John in an icy stare. "She's _mine_. You can't take her away from me. She's my Lizzy Girl."

Elizabeth could do nothing but watch as the two men continued to spat about her like she wasn't even here. It was hilarious, scary, and pitiful at the same time. She never realized how much the men truly cared about her.

"You can share, Sherlock." John insisted.

"No!" Sherlock shook his head violently. He shoved away from John, who immediately tried to move closer and get his armrest back. Elizabeth stuck her foot in between the bickering boys to get them to seperate.

"Boys, quit it!" Elizabeth ordered. "Mycroft will hopefully be here soon with the cure for...this."

"Oh, we're fine, Lizzy Girl." Sherlock waved away her statement. "We are perfectly fine. In fact, you should have some. You would love it, Dearest Daughter."

"What is with the pet names all of a sudden?" Elizabeth asked no one in particular.

Sherlock answered anyways, "Because I feel like it! Do I need a reason to show affection for my only child?"

"Well, yeah." Elizabeth said slowly. "You're you. You don't show affection. At least not without some sort of reason."

"I should be nicer to people." John nodded at Sherlock's deduction. "Especially Mycroft, all he does is help me. And all I do is be rude to him."

"I'll pretend I never heard that." Mycroft Holmes was standing in the doorway, flanked by a man in a lab coat. "For the sake of your dignity, dear brother."

"Thank God!" Elizabeth was relieved when the scientist injected the antidote into her father and John. After administering the dose, he scuttled out quickly.

"Good day, Elizabeth." Mycroft said. "The serum should take effect sometime tomorrow."

"See you soon, Myc... Wait, what?"


	4. Stuck Like Glue

Elizabeth watched in wonder as the bowl of goo rose. It was a green, slimey solution that Sherlock was messing around with. He had just poured a pinkish liquid into the bowl, and now the slime was rising like a loaf of bread.

"Cool," Elizabeth murmured as the slime kept going. It was nearing the edge of the bowl now. Was it going to go over?

Yes. Yes, it was.

Suddenly the slime's rising sped up, and it surged over the sides of its container. But instead of stopping it, Sherlock dumped the whole beaker of the pinkish liquid into the goo.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked, exasperated. The goo roared across the kitchen table.

"It's an experiment!" Sherlock said gleefully, making hurried notes on the back of his hand. Elizabeth's eyes widened as some of the goo began to ooze to to the floor.

"Can I touch it?" Elizabeth glanced at Sherlock. Sure it would be a big mess to clean up later, but right now, it was fun.

Sherlock shrugged, "I don't know. Hang on." He plunged a finger into the slime. When nothing happened, Elizabeth let some of it run onto her hand.

The slime kept going, and soon it had swamped around their feet and ankles, encasing them in goo. Elizabeth was glad she hadn't been wearing shoes, this could definitely stain. Luckily the slime began to slow its descent and had fully stopped before it reached the carpets of the living room and landing.

Elizabeth sighed in relief, at least she didn't have to shampoo the carpets this time. She went to pull her feet from the goo.

But she couldn't. She was stuck in the slime!

She tugged and tugged, "Dad, can you get your feet out?" Sherlock frowned and tried to move, but he couldn't either.

"Oh my God!" Elizabeth cried, frantically trying to pull her feet out. They were sitting ducks. Their phones were in the living room, and Mrs. Hudson and John were both out.

"Fascinating!" Sherlock clapped his hands. "A substance that rises, prowls, and encases its victims. Like amber and flies, but better!"

"Be excited when we're out of it!" Elizabeth was still trying to pull her feet out. She had no desire to be stuck when this goo suddenly started burning their skin off.

"It shouldn't do that." Sherlock deduced her thoughts. "But I do not have an agent prepared to get us out. Quite frankly, I didn't anticipate that this would happen."

"I'll admit that this is really cool." Elizabeth said honestly.

"But you would still like to get out."

"Yes, good deduction."

Sherlock glanced around the kitchen, searching for something that could help them escape. He reached for the counter and grabbed a knife that had been left out at breakfast.

He bent at the waist and began to saw at the goo around his ankles.

"Oh, please don't do that!" Elizabeth looked away.

"Why not?" He didn't stop cutting the slime.

"You are going to cut yourself!"

"No, I'm not!" Sherlock ignored her protests and kept freeing himself. After a few minutes, he had managed to carve a little path and cut his feet out. Elizabeth wasn't sure how he had happened not to cut himself. She had flinched everytime the _very_ sharp knife came close to his skin. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding when he finally walked out onto the landing.

Then Sherlock began to saw a path to Elizabeth. She let him clear the floor, but when he neared her feet she stopped him. "Oh, no! You are not putting that knife anywhere near my feet." Sherlock sighed, but he obliged, setting the knife on the counter. Now Elizabeth had a clear path to the landing if she could get her feet out. She pulled again in vain.

"Alright then," Sherlock strode forward and grabbed her around the waist. He backed up and pulled Elizabeth with him. When her feet came out of the goo, they made a loud sucking noise. Sherlock set her down and went back to carving pieces of the slime away from the floor.

Elizabeth surveyed the mess in the kitchen. This would take hours to clean up.

She grabbed another knife from the counter and set to work.


	5. When Can I See You Again

Sherlock was trying to make himself magnetic. Elizabeth was positive he wouldn't succeed, but John was actually interested to see what would happen. He hovered in the doorway of the kitchen, not quite intrigued enough to venture farther.

Mycroft had shown up an hour before. He and Elizabeth were conversing about the British Government in the relative safety of the living room. Since coming to the realization that Sherlock was not going to insist on training his daughter to be a consulting detective, Mycroft had taken to 'kidnapping' Elizabeth and instructing her in the ways of the government. He also came more frequently to Baker Street.

But if he was being honest with himself, Mycroft was lonely. He looked wistfully on the domesticity that Sherlock was able to experience with Elizabeth and John, and he felt himself being a little jealous of his younger brother.

So a sudden urge to have company had spurred him to 221B. Mycroft was sure that whatever Sherlock was working on would blow up eventually. His experiments tended to do that. Elizabeth had told him of the detective's more interesting experiments.

Mycroft recalled replacing the kitchen table without question after it had caught fire. He had watched in horror as Elizabeth had forgotten her entire life. He had never been more relieved when Sherlock had cured her. Mycroft himself had witnessed the event of Sherlock and John's giddy episode. He had thought it quite funny. He had also heard the struggles of the detective and his daughter as they tried to get out of the slime Sherlock had created.

Yes, the results of Sherlock's experiments tended to be funny, entertaining, but also potentially detrimental. Mycroft intended to supervise this experiment. He wouldn't have minded so much if the results only affected Sherlock. But since his niece and John were often caught in the middle, he felt he should at least attempt to protect them from his sibling.

"And how is Ambassador Cho?" Elizabeth inquired. They were sitting across from each other, Mycroft in John's armchair, and Elizabeth in Sherlock's leather one. "I heard that he was coming to the UK on some sort of business." She looked at Mycroft pointedly. _I would very much like to know what this business is_. Elizabeth was far more interested in politics and government than Mycroft had thought she would be. That or she was a _very_ good actress.

"All I can say is that I will be meeting with the Ambassador next week. Of course, I couldn't possibly turn him away even if he were to interrupt a family meeting..." Mycroft trailed off suggestively.

Elizabeth smiled. After all, he was inviting her to meet a foreign dignitary, "That's right. We must discuss the new policy on foreign travel. What day works best for you?"

"I hear the Ambassador's flight gets in on Thursday."

"Noon on Thursday, then?" Elizabeth grinned.

"That would work splendidly." Mycroft sent a quick text to Anthea, telling her to pick up Elizabeth on that date and time.

Elizabeth was gazing at him. She was deducing him. He recognized the look Sherlock always got when he was trying to figure something out.

Mycroft knew that Elizabeth could tell his reasons for coming to Baker Street and for involving her in his job. It didn't matter if she cared about a foreign dignitary, maybe she didn't even know who Cho was. All that mattered was doing what she could for family.

Mycroft suddenly realized how boring he must be. What a stark difference from a father who was constantly dragging her across London to chase criminals!

"You are very intriguing in your own way," Elizabeth was very perceptive. She had definitely inherited Sherlock's wit and cleverness. Mycroft felt a surge of pride. By inheriting that part of Sherlock, she also shared that part with Mycroft.

Mycroft glanced to the kitchen. John had found the courage to stand next to Sherlock as he fiddled with the chemicals. Sherlock was still intent on his solution. He probably hadn't moved for hours. Mycroft had just turned to Elizabeth to ask her something when there was a small bang from the kitchen.

Elizabeth was up in a moment, instinct from the countless times that she had heard that sound. She raced into the kitchen, and Mycroft hurried to follow.

Sherlock and John were both passed out on the kitchen floor. It looked like beaker of some blue liquid had exploded. Elizabeth was about to crouch next to her father, but Mycroft pulled her back out of the kitchen.

"We don't know what happened," Mycroft warned, dragging her out to the living room. "They could just be knocked out from the gas of the chemical itself. In which case, if you go in there, you might be knocked out as well."

"We can't just stand here!" Elizabeth argued, trying to pull away from him and go back in.

"Wait here," Mycroft entered the kitchen. Elizabeth came to stand in the doorway. Mycroft bent over John, checking his pulse. He did the same for Sherlock. They were both completely fine. Mycroft scanned their figures, not finding a single scratch. He sniffed the air, detecting the faint scent of ammonia. Ah, so they'd been knocked out by the gas of the chemical after all. But luckily, it had dissipated quickly, so Elizabeth and Mycroft were in no danger.

Elizabeth came into the kitchen and bent next to Mycroft. "We should move them into the living room. And then I need to clean up the glass and liquid."

Mycroft nodded. He got John's arms, and Elizabeth got his legs. Together they lifted him.

"He is a lot heavier than he looks," Elizabeth remarked as they stepped over Sherlock and the broken glass.

"Most of it is probably muscle," Mycroft really wished he was in a bit better shape. They set John down on the couch, and then went back for Sherlock.

It was much harder to pick up Sherlock. He was a good bit taller than the soldier. Mycroft and Elizabeth ended up having to hoist his arms over their shoulders and hold his legs with an arm each. They set him in his chair, basically just dropping him into it.

Elizabeth then retrieved some rubber gloves, a colorfully stained rag, and some clear cleaning liquid. She began to carefully scrub the floor and table while Mycroft swept up the glass and disposed of it. Looking back later, Mycroft wasn't particularly sure why he didn't just call someone to clean the kitchen. But there was something about cleaning with Elizabeth that didn't make it seem like a chore.

"How often exactly do you have to clean something like this?" Mycroft inquired, noting how Elizabeth scrubbed the surfaces almost professionally.

"Two maybe three times a week," Elizabeth answered, placing the gloves and rag in the sink. She put the spray back in the cabinet. "Depends on how often Dad gets bored. Usually he'll just leave a mess like this uncleaned if he gets a case. John taught me how to properly clean and dispose of potential biohazards."

"Useful skill," Mycroft mused.

"Very," Elizabeth sat on the floor in the living room, leaning against the front of the couch where John lay, still out. "Sometimes the techs at Scotland Yard do a terrible job of scouring a floor or carpet, and Lestrade will pay me to clean it."

After a few moments of a slightly awkward silence, Elizabeth asked, "How long do you think they'll be out?"

"Hopefully no more than a few hours," Mycroft replied. "I'm not sure how much ammonia was in that solution Sherlock was meddling with."

"You don't have to stay," Elizabeth said.

"I don't have anything better to do," Mycroft said honestly. He had solved the problem in Malaysia over breakfast and Japan wasn't set to be angry until sometime Monday.

They chatted for about twenty minutes about the new French diplomat. Sherlock and John hadn't stirred at all when a knock sounded at the door.

"Lestrade," Mycroft and Elizabeth chorused, hearing the familiar footsteps climb the stairs.

Lestrade stopped dead in the doorway. Mycroft wondered what he must think. Sherlock and John unconcious, and Mycroft and Elizabeth nonchalantly discussing slightly classified information.

"Well," Lestrade began after he had found his tongue again. "I was going to ask Sherlock to come to a crime scene."

"He should be fine in a few hours," Elizabeth informed him.

"Well, I need him now," Lestrade complained. "I guess... Elizabeth, would you mind taking a look? You're practically him anyways. Mycroft, if you would like to come as well..."

Elizabeth got up, and Mycroft mirrored her action. He usually despised legwork, but this was a very good opportunity to spend time with his niece, get some much-needed exercise, and annoy Sherlock all at the same time.

Five minutes after they arrived at the crime scene, Elizabeth had deduced exactly what had happened, and Lestrade had sent five officers to arrest the victim's brother.

"If you can do _that_ ," Lestrade remarked, extremely impressed, "why do you let Sherlock do all the deductions? Why do just observe and stand to the side?"

"It's his thing," Elizabeth shrugged. "Sherlock's the clever one, John's the brave army doctor, and I just provide another pair of legs, hands, and ears."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Lestrade countered. "I need to call you in more often. Would you mind if I called you in when Sherlock thinks that a case is boring? I hate it when he does that."

"I'd be happy to," Elizabeth nodded. "You can call me whenever you like. I won't dismiss something as _boring_."

"Plus you don't piss Anderson and Donovan off every chance you get," Lestrade mused. "I'll admit they're not very civil, but at least you don't anger them on purpose. I actually rather think they kind of like you."

Mycroft grinned internally at this exchange. Elizabeth was finally getting some recognition for her abilities. He was confident that Lestrade would be relying on her a bit more often from now on.

Sherlock and John were still unconcious when Mycroft and Elizabeth got back to the flat.

"What would you like for dinner?" Elizabeth asked, sensing that Mycroft wasn't quite ready to leave yet.

Elizabeth made a very delicious ravioli. She and Mycroft ate, and Elizabeth packed some away for Sherlock and John when they awoke.

Three hours later, a confused detective and an annoyed doctor awoke. Elizabeth gave them their dinner, and then they all retired to the living room. Sherlock went to his Mind Palace. John and Mycroft exchanged pleasantries, and Elizabeth read _The Iliad_ on the floor.

Mycroft was just about to bid them goodnight, when footsteps were heard on the stairs again.

Lestrade entered the room for the second time in six hours, "Good to see you two up and about again." He smiled to Sherlock and John.

"Do you have a case for me, Lestrade?" Sherlock snapped to attention, obviously itching for something fun to do.

"No, not for you," Lestrade turned to Elizabeth. "Would you mind coming out? _He_ would probably think this one was boring."

Sherlock's face was priceless. He stared between Lestrade and Elizabeth, wondering what he'd missed.

"Don't be too mean to him, Lestrade," Elizabeth remarked, getting up and sliding her coat on.

Mycroft said goodnight and exited the flat before Elizabeth and Lestrade.

Just as his black car pulled up, the DI and his niece came out onto the pavement.

"You know, Uncle," Elizabeth said kindly. "I really shouldn't be out at this time of night on my own. Besides, I wouldn't mind a ride back here afterwards. The police are very busy."

Mycroft smiled and offered his niece a hand into the car. On the way to the crime scene, Mycroft resolved to check in at Baker Street more often.

Just as before, Elizabeth solved it in less than twenty minutes. Needless to say, Lestrade was very appreciative. Even Anderson and Donovan complimented the young Holmes. Mycroft could see that most of the Yarders preferred Elizabeth to Sherlock and hoped that Lestrade would choose her more often. Mycroft was sure that Elizabeth would see her fair share of crime scenes from now on. Sherlock often had cases outside of the police, Lestrade would need someone else to be him until he was available again.

As Mycroft dropped Elizabeth back off at Baker Street, she turned and said, "Feel free to come to a crime scene anytime. I know that you get a little tired of the Diogenes sometimes. Come out and get some fresh air. Do a bit of legwork."

Mycroft considered her offer, "I might just need to take you up on your offer occasionally. Also there are a few...delicate...matters you could look into for me. I wouldn't want to bother Sherlock with boring, government problems."

Elizabeth grinned knowingly, "Consider me your mini-consulting detective."


	6. Sorry

**Author's Note** **\- Do not take any of this chemistry seriously. I just made it up.**

Elizabeth was standing at the kitchen table reading _Macbeth_. She barely noticed as Sherlock began to fiddle with some red colored liquid.

She did notice when the liquid exploded and splashed all over her right arm and hand.

It burned. Oh God, did it burn. She dropped her book onto the table and bent double, cradling her arm. She bit back a cry of pain.

"John!" Sherlock bent next to Elizabeth, reaching to examine her arm. It was a bright, angry red, and it looked painful. But it didn't look like it had actually burned her skin, it just really felt like it had.

John came bounding down the stairs at Sherlock's call. He scanned Elizabeth's arm. "What was it, Sherlock? What exploded?"

"Calcium Nitrate," Sherlock stood off to the side, looking unsure as to what he should do. John tugged Elizabeth over the sink and ran cool water over her arm.

"Stay," he told her. She obeyed, relishing in the cool feeling spreading up her arm.

John walked into the living room, "Mycroft, you're fastest. I need Potassium Chloride. Hurry!"

Elizabeth was relieved that she had been able to stop herself from crying out. It hurt like hell, but she refused to let the two men know that. She could handle it.

Mycroft himself came in with the chemical. He arrived in record time, less than three minutes after John had summoned him via skull camera. Wordlessly, he handed John the solution.

As John gently poured the green solution over her arm, Elizabeth was thankful that she was left-handed. If for some reason her arm fell off, at least she could still write legibly.

The burn in her arm had fully subsided enough that she wasn't completely consumed by the pain. She could now focus on the death glare Mycroft was giving Sherlock. It was kind of hilarious. Sherlock was just standing there, looking like he was melting under Mycroft's stare.

"You'll be just fine," John told her. He examined her arm, now back to its original color, and pronounced it cured.

"It's not me I'm worried about," Elizabeth murmured, earning her a chuckle from John.

Luckily, Lestrade decided to show up with a case for Elizabeth right at that moment.

He glanced between Mycroft and Sherlock, who was now trying to become a statue.

"Uh, case?" Lestrade looked to Elizabeth. "Would you mind? Anderson's already had enough of Sherlock for the week. Besides he's got that Carlton Diamond thing, right?" He said all of that as if he and Elizabeth were the only ones in the room.

"Absolutely. Come along, Uncle," Elizabeth followed the DI out of the flat, tugging a still-glaring Mycroft after her.

"What was that about earlier?" Lestrade muttered to Elizabeth as she examined the corpse.

"Experiment."

"Ah," Lestrade understood immediately.

"Sherlock needs to be more careful with those chemicals," Mycroft bent down next to them. "Quite a few of them are toxic after all."

"I know we don't need drugs busts anymore, haven't since you were born, Elizabeth." Lestrade said. "But should I start doing Harmful and Toxic Chemicals Busts?"

"Is it really that big of a deal?" Elizabeth looked under the dead man's hand.

"Considering your arm was almost burned off twenty minutes ago, I would say yes," Mycroft remarked.

"Well, was he trying to burn her arm off?" Lestrade asked.

"Of course not," Elizabeth said quickly. She inspected the man's gold watch.

"I wouldn't completely disregard the possibility," Mycroft muttered.

"Stop it, you two," Elizabeth snapped. "I know it doesn't look like all the time, but he's a great father."

"He might be a good father, but that doesn't mean he isn't dangerous," Mycroft reminded her.

"I know that," Elizabeth ran her fingers through the dead man's sandy hair. "And yes, I am well aware that the only reason I was able to stay with him when I was younger was due to the intervention of the British Government."

"Really?" Lestrade raised his eyebrows.

"Do you have any idea how many times Sherlock has set fire to something? The last time he did it, Elizabeth was the only one who noticed. She's old enough to handle it now, but imagine a four-year-old stumbling across burning flames or a toxic chemical. Needless to say, they were monitored _very_ closely back then."

"Love you too," Elizabeth commented. She stood and brushed herself off. The men did the same instinctively. "He was murdered by his girlfriend, who is also pregnant with his child. He was pressuring her to have an abortion. They fought. Crime-of-passion. Get the poor woman a good lawyer and she can easily claim self-defense."

"But was it actually self-defense?" Lestrade inquired, having whipped out a notepad and jotted down everything Elizabeth said.

"Yes," Elizabeth nodded.

"Well, it was a pleasure as always," Lestrade gave a little wave and then left.

"The world is very grateful that you and Sherlock never decided to become criminals," Mycroft said as he dropped Elizabeth off at 221B.

Elizabeth grinned, "Oh, it's never too late for that. I'm still young."


	7. Love the Way You Lie

**Author's Note** **: Bonjour, my home slices! I hope everyone is having a great evening!**

 **My Muse finally allowed me to write for Sherlock again! Woo! Happy dancing!**

 **Without further ado...**

Elizabeth knew that she would regret this later. But, she told herself, she could really use the twenty pounds.

And to be completely honest, she would have done it for free. Just out of pure curiousity.

Sherlock had bribed the others too. A week free of screechy violin for John. A crime scene free of degrading insults for Lestrade. A day of uncomplaining legwork for Mycroft.

"Alright," Elizabeth watched as her father passed out the vials of the blue liquid. They were all seated in the living room, awaiting their medicine.

"Is this going to make us sick?" Lestrade eyed his warily.

"Quite possibly," Sherlock said matter-of-factly. "But you all agreed, so drink up!"

Elizabeth did so excitedly. The other men looked like they were already regretting agreeing to this.

"Okay, first question," Sherlock said. "Each of you state your full names."

"That's not a question," Mycroft remarked. Sherlock ignored him.

"Why do we have to say our names?" John asked. "You already know them. Well, you don't know Lestrade's, but that's your own fault."

"It's so he can test what reaction we have to telling the truth," Elizabeth answered. "It's routine for polygraphs and such."

"Alright, fine," Mycroft mumbled. "George Mycroft James Holmes."

"Wait a second," Lestrade cut in. "Both you and Sherlock have perfectly normal first names, yet you choose to go by your second names?"

"Don't get them started on that," John sighed. "John Hamish Watson."

"Elizabeth Angelica Holmes."

"Gregory Sampson Lestrade."

"Good," Sherlock pressed his hands together. Suddenly, Elizabeth felt a bit like a lab rat. And her father was just getting started. "Now try to lie. Who do you each secretly fancy? And I will add, that the truth serum also comes with compulsion. You should find it impossible to not speak."

"That's cheating!" Lestrade said indignantly.

"Don't re-direct," Sherlock scolded.

"Anthea," Mycroft blurted.

"Louisa," John said, shrugging.

"Who's Louisa?" Lestrade asked, looking very much like he was close to spilling his own fancy.

"A nurse at the surgery."

"That's nice," Lestrade took a deep breath.

"Oh, come on, Lestrade," Elizabeth soothed. "Let it out."

"No, no, no..." Lestrade fisted his hands, concentrating. "Donovan!" He clapped his hands over his mouth the moment he said it.

The others stared at Lestrade in disbelief.

"Oh, this is fun," Elizabeth chuckled. "And mine's Reid."

"Which one's Reid?" Sherlock asked. He wanted to know who the boy his daughter fancied was.

"He's my best friend," Elizabeth replied. "He was over yesterday."

"Oh, yes," John mused. "You were reading Heart of Darkness together. It was sweet how you two took turns reading it aloud."

"Next question," Elizabeth looked up at her father, her cheeks brightening.

"Well, if John approves I give you leave to like him," Sherlock said. "Next. What's the worst thing that, in your minds, each of you has ever done?"

"Oh, come on," Lestrade whined. "Can't you just ask us what our favorite movies are?"

"That wouldn't be as fun," Sherlock reminded him. "Or provide as much viable blackmail material."

"I told a girl that liked Harry that she was straight so that maybe the girl would like me instead," John admitted. "It was a mean thing to do. But man was she hot."

"I skimped on some paperwork," Lestrade said. "I messed up, and Dimmock ended up getting the blame. I didn't say anything, and I should've because he got a warning."

"I once angered a politician," Mycroft looked at his hands. "The next day, there was a terrorist attack in Sussex."

"There was?" Lestrade asked. "I never heard about that."

"Of course you didn't." Mycroft said tersely.

"Elizabeth?" Sherlock prompted. His daughter seemed to sink back into the couch. "You have to answer the question."

"I actually don't feel too compelled at the moment," Elizabeth lied. It was clear to see that she was straining against the weight of the truth.

"Elizabeth, what did you do?" John asked calmly. "Whatever we say in this room never leaves it. Understood?" He glared at each of the other men, who all nodded. They didn't want their secrets out either.

Elizabeth sighed, "I..." She shook her head, clamping her hand over her mouth.

"Boys, plug your ears and close your eyes," John ordered.

"What?" Mycroft acted like he hadn't heard correctly.

"Do it now!" John demanded firmly. Lestrade and Mycroft obeyed without another word. After a long look at Elizabeth, Sherlock did the same.

After a minute or two, Sherlock heard a muffled, "Alright, we're done."

Sherlock opened his eyes, pulling his hands off of his ears. He locked his gaze on John, who looked back heavily. A silent conversation passed between them.

 _Are you going to tell me what that was about?_

 _You know I can't._

 _Should I be worried?_

 _I have it handled._

Sherlock's eyes widened. That was not an answer! But John just shook his head, telling Sherlock to just leave it for now.

All Sherlock could deduce from Elizabeth and John was that whatever her secret was, it was a big one. Sherlock noticed Mycroft's eyes bulge slightly, and he knew that his brother had picked up on something he himself had missed. Sherlock looked even harder, but he couldn't see what that might be.

Breaking the tension, Sherlock said, "Who was everyone's first kiss?"

"My girlfriend from school, Liza," Lestrade answered quickly.

"Nora Jenkins," John replied.

"Sam Winchester," Elizabeth said.

"But isn't he your friend?" John asked her. "Are you two dating?"

"No," Elizabeth told him. "We went out a few months ago. That's how Reid and I met him, Dean, and Cas. We're all good mates now."

"I like those boys," Lestrade offered. "Reid Morgan is a perfect gentlemen. The Winchester boys and Cas Novak are great as well."

"I think so too," Elizabeth smiled, glad the conversation was light again. "That's why I keep them around."

"You're up, Mycroft," John reminded him.

"Nobody."

"You haven't kissed anyone?" Lestrade chuckled. Elizabeth was the only one in the room with enough grace to seem surprised.

"Love destroys," Mycroft quoted.

"Without love you're alone," John countered. "Where would Sherlock have been if Elizabeth hadn't been born? Or me, for that matter? I don't know how Sherlock and I would've got on if she hadn't been there to defuse some of the tension and awkwardness."

"Oh, I'm sure you two would have been great pals," Elizabeth argued.

"But you are a very welcome presence," John assured her.

"Okay," Sherlock continued. "What do each of you think of me and Elizabeth?"

"Elizabeth is like you, but better," Lestrade answered matter-of-factly. "Better because she's nicer, not at all annoying, and she doesn't insult everyone. But I guess, you have your good days too, Sherlock."

"You are essential in legwork, brother mine," Mycroft replied. "Elizabeth is much better at human interaction, and she can be useful in establishing relationships with foreign dignitaries."

"You two are my best friends," John said simply. There was no need to say any more. So much meaning was being put into those words."

"I think that I am a fun-sized version of you, Dad," Elizabeth grinned. "And proud to be so."

"Next question," Sherlock continued, more warmly after the words of his friends and family. "Who is someone you secretly feel uncomfortable around?"

"Mycroft," Lestrade looked at said man. "Sorry," he added as an afterthought. "You're like a creepier Sherlock."

"No offense taken," Mycroft shrugged.

"Anderson," Elizabeth said.

"Why him?" John asked. "I thought you just ignored him."

"It's hard to ignore him when he tries to..." Elizabeth blinked.

"What?" Lestrade leaned forward. "When he tries to what? Do I need to talk with him?"

"Do I need to kill him?" Sherlock asked.

"No, it's fine. It's just..." Elizabeth stopped again. "Suddenly I don't feel compelled to tell the truth. Hang on. There is no problem with Anderson whatsoever. He is my favorite person in the world."

"Okay, that's definitely a lie," John remarked. "Um... I hate Kelly Clarkson."

Lestrade jumped in enthusiastically, "I love rap music."

"I hate ballet," Mycroft said.

"It's only been thirty minutes!" Sherlock exclaimed. "It wore off too quickly."

"Such a shame," Mycroft stood. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow for that legwork."

Lestrade exited as well, "Looking forward to not being belittled."

"I really thought that would last longer," Sherlock picked up one of the vials.

"Lasted long enough," John remarked. Elizabeth nodded in agreement.

"Elizabeth, what was that thing that you did that you wouldn't tell about?" Sherlock asked.

"Dad, I love you," Elizabeth began, "but it's going to take another vial of truth serum before I tell you that."


	8. Grenade

**Author's Note** **: Hola, mes amis! I hope that everyone is doing well today.**

 **It's been forever since I've written for Sherlock! Like...ages!**

 **So let's get to it.**

 **Without further ado...**

"Elizabeth! John!"

Her father's shouts cut through Elizabeth's dreams, and she startled awake. She froze, pausing to listen. Part of her thought she might have dreamed the yells.

"Elizabeth! John! Get down here!"

Not a dream, definitely not a dream. Elizabeth sprang out of bed and ran down the stairs, meeting John in the hall. Together, they raced into the kitchen.

In the few seconds Elizabeth had had while she was running down, she had prepared herself for what she might have been about to see. Her father could have been bleeding out on the floor, he could have been on fire...the list went on and on.

But when Elizabeth and John burst into the kitchen, everything seemed perfectly normal.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John was panting slightly from his run. His greying hair was disheveled, and his pajama pants had guns on them.

"I've done it!" Sherlock gave a happy little hop. "I've finally done it!"

"Done, what?" John pressed. "Gone mad?" Elizabeth thought that John might have been right. Sherlock had obviously been doing one of his experiments. Why he was doing one at four in the morning, Elizabeth could only wonder.

"No!" Sherlock exclaimed. "I've made a grenade that's biodegradeable and doesn't actually require explosives so it's fairly safe to carry around in your pocket."

"You did what?" John cried. "In our kitchen? What if you'd blown up the flat? Again!"

"Did you not hear the 'doesn't actually require explosives' part?" Sherlock countered. "It's perfectly safe."

"It's still a grenade, apparently," John argued. "So there is some capacity of exploding involved."

"Enough!" Elizabeth cut in. "Dad, show us how it works."

"Hello!" John piped up. "Grenade. In our kitchen. Go find a field far, far, far away from here to test it in."

"It's fine," Sherlock scooped a handful of some green slime from a tub that sat beside him. "Watch."

Without warning, Sherlock launched the slime at John and Elizabeth's feet. John's soldier reflexes kicked in, and he pushed Elizabeth out of the way. The whole glob of slime fell right onto his barefeet.

Elizabeth held her breath, waiting to see what would happen. Instead of exploding, the slime expanded rapidly, spilling over John's toes and rising. Three seconds later, John was stuck in a cube of slime that almost reached his knees.

"It's the slime!" Elizabeth realized. The memories of her and Sherlock finding themselves stuck in the green mass came flooding back. "That's genius!"

"I thought you said it was a grenade!" John's expression had faded from terrified to plain pissed off.

"I'm calling it a grenade," Sherlock amended. "It works much the same way."

"It really doesn't," John remarked. He reached down and tried to scratch away the slime, but it held fast. "How do I get out?"

"It should dissolve in a couple hours," Sherlock answered, getting up from the counter and going to the microwave.

"A couple hours?" John echoed angrily.

"It's that or you let Elizabeth cut your feet out with a knife," Sherlock reminded him.

"I'll wait, thank you," John snapped. He crossed his arms and just stood there.

It was quite a funny sight. John standing there in a cube of green sludge. Sherlock calculating away at a jar of toes like everything was perfectly normal.

"I love my life," Elizabeth commented aloud.

"Good for you," John retorted, but Elizabeth spotted a smile before he looked away.


End file.
